


Life in an Idiot’s Fishbowl

by 221bMoonunit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3896023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221bMoonunit/pseuds/221bMoonunit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Promised sequel to ‘A Shark, A Goldfish and the Village Idiot’. Life goes on for Mr. and Mrs. Mycroft Holmes, and it's never boring especially with Sherlock Holmes around!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, right and I don’t own Sherlock…
> 
> As promised here is the sequel to ‘A Shark, A Goldfish and the Village Idiot’… I will be working hard on the upcoming parts and the rough draft of this story looks promising. Here’s hoping that you will like it…
> 
> Now for those lovely readers who are willing to read any of my stories, by the way ‘thank you’, well, you know that I am also working hard on my Sherlock and Molly story, ‘And So Beats A Gentle Heart’, fear not, my wonderful friends! I am still working on it and will have another part…if all goes well, out in the upcoming days…It’s just a found some bugs and must fix them…Blasted things those story bugs! Just know I am working on them both… it’s simply when I have one rough draft giving me some trouble sometimes I step back for a few days and work on something else but please trust that I will finish them. Honest! For I hate to see a story unfinished so please don’t worry. However you may feel free to worry about the fact that I quite possibly have no idea what the (insert vulgar word here, author likes the ‘f’ one) I’m doing! 
> 
> A small little warning: there is talk of sex and talk of a blowjob…We don’t ‘see’ it…I heard that ‘aww’ out of some of you! But it is still only talked about…
> 
> Now on to some fun!

 

~*~PART 1~*~

 

_The good Watson had at the time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall in our association._

 

-The Blanched Soldier by Arthur Conan Doyle

 

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

 

Molly Holmes carefully tied the bright yellow bow to make herself a cute pony tail. Afterwards she carefully looked at herself in the full length mirror. Wondering how in the bloody hell did this happen…Wishing that she didn’t look so…Oh, God! She honestly looked like a huge yellow balloon! Seriously! She nearly expected to find herself floating away and have everyone look up and say, ‘Gee…Look at that lovely hot air balloon!’ At least she hoped they would at least say ‘lovely’…

 

Molly’s hands tenderly caressed her very large pregnant belly. As she studied herself, she suddenly found herself watched by her dear, beloved husband as he come up from behind her to press himself lovingly against her. His sweet hands, hands that she adored, gently rubbed her large tummy…

 

Her large tummy was his entire fault! Not that she really minded she had always wanted a child…She really didn’t mind that she was pregnant…What she minded was that one of her favorite colors was now betraying her and made her look like a bloody balloon! A huge yellow balloon, no less!

 

“You are frowning, why?” Mycroft Holmes whispered intimately in her ear.

 

His words and touch filled her body and soul with a soothing sweet warmth. Yet, she still saw a big bright yellow balloon. Molly watched her lip tremble, oh goodness, she actually felt like weeping!

 

“Oh, Molly…My dear, please don’t cry…Seriously, what is wrong?” He asked softly, impossibly seeming to press himself even closer against her as if that was the only way he knew to comfort her.

 

Molly sniffed before she whimpered, “Well…just look at me!”

 

“I am and I plainly see my very beautiful and pregnant wife…and really just look at how heavy with child you are…It’s such a lovely picture…”

 

“ _This_ is a lovely picture?Mycroft, I look like a huge yellow balloon that’s about to float away at any moment!” Molly cried.

 

“You are far too heavy to float.” Her husband stated obviously. Her already thin lips became thinner as she thought about hitting him…

 

“This is all **_your_** fault!”

 

“My dear, I may have taken a needle to some condoms but I clearly remember that I didn’t have to force those lovely legs of yours to open!”

 

“Mycroft! Seriously, can’t you just say ‘it takes two to tango’?”

 

“I am not a fan of the tango, I am however a fan of those lovely legs of yours.” After saying this he actually had the audacity to chuckle. “I know, my beautiful love, I know that I purposely got you with child, however, I did not tell you to wear bright yellow…Which is a lovely color on you…nor do you look like a huge balloon. Honest, you look like—“

 

“Like I might explode at any second! Look at me, you bloody _man_ , I am **_huge_**!” Molly cut in, her hands going to her face as she began to sob.

 

Mycroft sighed. “You are **_not_** going to explode; pregnant women really don’t do that. I’m sure it just **_feels_** that way.You know, you are not really huge at all, you are simply a very petite woman who just so happens to be in her final month of pregnancy. In fact, according to my figures and observations of you getting things at the estate seriously clean and that back ache of yours that you’ve had for the last hour, I’d say with certainty that tonight will be the night!”

 

“NO!” Molly yelled as her hands left her face. “No, Mycroft I refuse to ruin John and Mary’s wedding!”

 

“You won’t ruin it, my dear, they will still get married and I’m sure they will be happy…or happy enough. It’s at the reception that we will need to sneak out into the night and later we can share what happened…or even share before we carefully run out the door. We can inform them that we still wish for them to enjoy themselves…and…Well, this is a big AND… if my brother is good, I just might allow him to come with us to the hospital. Hmm? That sounds nice doesn’t it?” Mycroft asked softly.

 

Molly snorted, “Like you could actually keep your brother away…”

 

“Oh, my dear, why must I always remind you that I _am_ the British government? I can do things, and perhaps it’s true that keeping Sherlock away would be hard it would not however, be impossible.”

 

Molly softly said his name and as always she felt she had his full attention…It was as if everything she had to say was the utmost greatest of importance to him.

 

It made her feel special and…well, to be perfectly honest, it made her feel loved. Molly couldn’t ever doubt Mycroft’s love for her. She turned into his arms so she could face him.

 

“I am happy to be pregnant, Mycroft, so very happy…It’s just right now…At this moment…I…I look like a huge yellow bal—“

 

“No.” Mycroft cut in, “You look like my beautiful wife and Molly, and you are indeed very beautiful.”

 

He carefully removed Molly’s hands from her face to tenderly, lovingly wipe away her tears before gifting her lips a light chaste kiss.

 

Molly placed her hands on his hips and leaned towards him, her big belly kept her from getting as close as she’d have liked.

 

“All I know is that my husband is looking elegant and so damn yummy…While I look like _this!_ ”

 

And he did look elegant and yummy, in his expensive, always expensive, dark gray three-piece suit. Freshly polished shoes that seemed to hold absolutely no flaws whatsoever. Molly wouldn’t be at all surprised if dirt was actually afraid of such shiny perfection. Mycroft was also wearing a lovely ironed white dress shirt with a bright tie that she had found that matched the dress she was wearing perfectly. Yet, wearing that lovely colorful tie he in no way looked like a huge yellow balloon! God, it wasn’t fair!

 

“Well, personally, I think you look very yummy as well and I would be incredibly happy to show you just how lovely I find you but then we’d miss the wedding…and it could bring about the birth of our child much sooner…Neither of those things would bother **_me_** all that much but…”

 

Molly smiled at him. “I know it would be no hardship for you, Mycroft, yet I really want to see John and Mary get married and witness the possible train wreck or possible breathtaking experience that will be Sherlock’s best man’s speech…”

 

Molly caught the flash of horror that crossed his features before he hid it with an deadpan expression for he must clearly remember his own speech that seemed to be more dedicated to her than to him…As well as the death threat if Mycroft didn’t treat her right…

 

“I’m sure that as long as Sherlock doesn’t threaten Mary with a shovel if she ever hurts John that things will be just fine.”

 

No matter how expressionless her husband’s face there was something in his tone…Something…Absolutely no humor and with a slight dark, cold edge?

 

Her beloved husband knew something! Molly was certain that he did. Something that his brother probably didn’t even know…Could John know?

 

Molly has always suspected that there was something Mary was hiding…She had once given Molly advice on how to win a game of ‘hide and seek’ with Mycroft…Somehow, proving to Molly that Mary herself was pretty damn good at hiding…From what or who she had no idea.

 

Mary was quite nice but there was still something about her. She reminded Molly of a lone wolf.A truly magnificent creature…So beautiful and nice to look at, with all that lovely cuddly soft fur but get too close and things could end up pretty damn deadly. Those teeth of hers were sharp and would take little effort to pierce flesh. Plus, there was something cold and deadly behind those deceptively sweet, kind eyes…

 

Still, no matter how deadly Mary might be, Molly had a feeling she’d always see her as a dear friend.

 

Molly sighed, “We all have secrets and Mary should be allowed hers…Though…Whatever secret she has is odd…A while back I was talking to Sherlock and Mary as they planned the wedding and it seems that Mary has no friends coming that she’s known for longer than five years…I…I find that sad and wrong, somehow…And I have a suspension that whatever secret Mary is carrying involves the reason behind that. I know and understand that she’s an orphan and no family will be there…But surely, Mycroft, there are people from her uni days or even six years and beyond from her past that would at least want to be at the wedding…Yet, no one…She has never even once said, ‘I wish so and so could be there…’ It just makes me wonder…”

 

Molly pulled away from Mycroft to look for the delicate and beautiful bracelet that she had been planning to wear.

 

However, sadness hit her as she briefly thought of her flat mate from her uni days…Molly would have loved to have had Stephanie at her wedding…Yet that had been quite impossible…

 

Perhaps, just perhaps, Mary shared the same terrible secret that made it impossible for Stephanie to come to her wedding or to have even been her bridesmaid…

 

Molly bit her lip, shaking her head trying desperately to get rid of her heartbreaking thoughts…

 

She found the bracelet she had been searching for and with shaking, fumbling fingers attempted to clasp it to her wrist. Suddenly, her wrist and bracelet was taken by firm yet kind fingers and within seconds it was fastened and the bracelet sparkled beautifully upon her delicate wrist…

 

It was the only expensive piece of jewelry that she wore outside of her lovely antique wedding ring and band that had once belonged to Mycroft’s French grandmother…She treasured it as well as the pendant that Mycroft had given her…She doubted it was very expensive but the sentiment was overwhelmingly great…A pendant that held her brother’s green button…She use to carry it in one of her pockets at all times, until Mycroft had gotten ahold of it…and placed it in a lovely pendant just for her…It screamed loudly what a kind and thoughtful man he could be…That he _was_ …Mycroft simply hid it quite well…Never from her, however…

 

After Mycroft fastened the bracelet he took her hand and kissed it before saying softly, his intelligent eyes watching her face. “And…it bothers you…Whatever, Mary’s secret is?”

 

Molly gave a slight nod before shaking her head viciously. “It shouldn’t bother me, Mycroft! Her secrets are just that _, hers_! It’s just that I hope if the day ever comes and whatever it is she can trust John with whatever secret she carries…Though perhaps I’m being silly and she has already trusted him with it, yes?” She finished the last sentence hopefully.

 

Knowing full well that they both had some secrets.

 

Mycroft studied her still…yet, his eyes told her that he was seeing something else within his mind…It was as if a thousand thoughts were whirling around at the speed of light, flooding his brilliant mind…He slowly blinked and the moment was gone, bringing her back into focus,before agreeing softly, “Perhaps, she has done just that.”

 

“Anyway…” Molly said as she attempted to straighten his already perfectly straight tie. “Her secret probably isn’t all that bad! Maybe to pay for uni her first job was to talk dirty into the phone…Or she’s an alpha werewolf who lost her pack and is attempting to make a new one! Or even a ninja assassin…or…Oh! She’s hundreds of years old because she had been cursed simply because she had touched the forbidden treasure of Atlantis!”

 

Mycroft sighed, “You really must stop reading those ghastly paranormal romances, my dear, and they fill your lovely head with the oddest of rubbish.”

 

Molly suddenly felt shifty eyed for a moment before she looked away to scratch at her nose before she lied…”W-What paranormal romances?”

 

Mycroft gave her a pointed look. “Oh, you know…The books that you enjoy hiding around the estate…in the strangest of places and sometimes even in my luggage when I must go away for a few days. The ones you place a post-it note to on certain pages that ask me what I think of you doing certain…improper things to me when I return from my little business trip.”

 

“Oh, right… _those_ …I may have noticed that after sneaking them into your bag that you are never away for long…quite… ** _weird_**!” Molly said the word, weird, slowly as if half expecting the X-Files theme song to start playing somewhere in the back ground. When it sadly didn’t she continued, “Though I honestly didn’t think my reading those books bothered you. For some of those books have given me some interesting ideas and when I experiment with them you don’t seem to mind. Though you did fear that using all that honey in the bedroom would be too much.”

 

“Messy! I never said that the honey was too much; I declared that it would be quite messy and _it was!_ Plus, really what the hell did you expect those werebears in that novel you had been reading to play with? Nor do I really mind you reading them…it’s simply—absurd most times—“

 

Molly cut her husband off, “Well, werebears are also into fish, though happily they never did anything sexual involving them…Otherwise I probably would have stopped reading that novel because of the whole ‘eww’ factor.”

 

Mycroft cleared his throat before asking softly, “Was that the delightful novel that had t-the…um…well…”

 

Molly watched fascinated as her sweet Victorian like man blushed before he continued, “The blowjob involving the ice cube?”

 

Molly did her best not to giggle. “No, that was the novel that involved a werepolar bear and a white weretiger…”

 

“Well, the authors of these novels are indeed creative andas much as I hate to admit to such a thing…I could very well be wrong about you reading such…things…Maybe…just maybe they aren’t total rubbish…and you should keep reading them to your heart’s delight!” Mycroft stated all this thoughtfully.

 

“I’m planning to keep reading, my love, don’t you worry. I will continue to find…interesting things for us to…try.” Molly said quite honestly.

 

“Good. Very good.” Mycroft muttered looking away.

 

“Anyway if Mary is indeed over a hundred years old, after so much time, she deserves happiness!” Molly continued, giving another glance of herself in the mirror. Wondering if she had time to go out and buy another dress…A quick glance at the clock informed her that she just might be mental if she honestly thought she could actually pull that off, even with her husband’s help…Nope, still couldn’t pull it off!

 

“Oh, of course she does.” Mycroft stated scornfully.

 

Molly slapped his arm in warning. “Behave yourself!” Molly said as she shot him a pointed look.

 

At that moment he actually attempted to look all innocent. All that look did was make her eyes narrow on him suspiciously.

 

He blinked at her.

 

“I’ll have you know, my dear, that I _always_ behave myself!” Said the man who took a needle to some colorful condoms just to show her that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her…Some men actually say that with a beautiful engagement ring but not her idiot! Nope. Mycroft Holmes thought she needed action that spoke volumes…

 

Feeling her baby kick, Molly rubbed the side of her belly as she shook her head at him in disbelief of what he had said…

 

“I’m simply agreeing with you that your lovely friend Mary deserves happiness with my dear brother’s best friend…” Mycroft explained with a could careless shrug as if it wasn’t all that important to him but because it was important to her…He’d force himself to at least half-hearted pretend to care. Perhaps he even cared a little bit…For he was a man who never liked to get involved in the lives of others but since he was now married…His wife had opened his eyes to a completely different world…One he quite liked to be honest.

 

Molly smiled at him. Extremely proud that her husband was at least _trying_ to care which she found to be very sweet…

 

And then her sweet husband had to add, “No matter what deadly secret she is hiding from her soon-to-be husband.”

 

Molly frowned at him. Now she knew for certain that Mary **_did_** have a secret…A deadly one at that.

 

“As I said before, everyone deserves to keep their secrets, Mr. Know-It-All.” Molly informed Mycroft softly, “I happily allow you to keep yours with no questions or suspicions.”

 

Suddenly, there was a beautiful tenderness in his eyes as he lifted his hand to caress her face. “I know. For you have always respected my secrets and that means the world to me, Molly, it really does.”

 

“It’s easy to respect your secrets, Mycroft. For your secrets protect England…Also, I fear that they are completely boring so really what would be the point of knowing them?”

 

Mycroft seemed to be completely used to her finding anything involving what he did for a living to be quite boring. In her eyes what he did was spend a very dull day in the office. He was simply a boring politician that had a lot of time on his hands, which is what she lovingly told others that didn’t know him.

 

Luckily for him, Molly saw him as a yummy _sexy_ politician…Who could easily make her laugh, cry, roll her eyes and was the only one in his life that dared to call him an idiot. Oddly enough he seemed to find her calling him such an charming endearment, much like ‘honey’ or ‘dear’.

 

He gave her a soft half smile. “Whatever you say, my dear.”

 

Molly smiled; she absolutely loved it when he said things like that! She liked so much that she reached up to kiss him.

 

Of course, he kissed her back. Welcomed it actually, with intense eagerness. He held her to him. As always the kiss saturated Molly’s senses. The intense warmth of the kiss, the lips, the touch…All so overwhelming with love…That warmth…That love all flooded over her as he explored her mouth earnestly, eagerly and oh, so passionately. The kiss was so…so… _right_ , so wonderfully perfect.

 

Molly highly doubted that she’d ever get tired of his kisses…

 

Their happy, blissful moans filled the air yet their moans turned into something else when Mycroft’s phone went off. She knew that he had asked Anthea to deal with all his incoming calls today, except for one person…Well…Three actually…His mummy, daddy and Sherlock…She didn’t need to be on the list, for his main plan for today was to never leave her side. He was certain that today was the day she’d be having their little princess…

 

They slowly pulled away and her husband sighed before pulling out his phone to look at it. He made a slight face as he answered it.

 

“What is it, brother mine? No…No…We still have plenty of time before we need to be at the church. Yes, we will both be there, Sherlock, for you know my wife wants to witness John and Mary achieve wedded bliss…Oh, you know bloody well that I wouldn’t have shown up if Molly hadn’t told me I was going!”

 

Molly gave her husband a displeased look that he unwisely chose to ignore as he continued, “No. I wouldn’t ever put my foot down when it comes to her…Because, Sherlock, I’m the smart one! And I will always be the smart one, for I know damn well that if I put my foot down that another body part of mine would receive absolutely no pleasure what so ever!...No, brother mine, I am not being vulgar! I am simply being honest! So…Are you excited about this? Hmm? John and Mary, pure wedded bliss, those two will always be linked as one. Always a couple. Always together…Oh, what a delighted pair, on their own adventure in the game of life!” Mycroft had started to sound highly sarcastic.

 

“…I wonder if this means that I’ll be seeing more of you now. It will be like old times…Except I’m married now and have to be home in time for supper! Have you thought about how different life will be now, with your best friend married?...Oh, you know exactly what I mean…”

 

Molly reached over and slapped his upper arm quite hard. ‘Be nice!’ She mouthed at him and he frowned heavily at her annoying suggestion. Her delightful idiot probably thought he was being _nice_!

 

So, Mycroft continued, this time he attempted to sound _nice_ , to be honest it sounded a bit fake…Actually, he sounded uncomfortable as if he was constipated.

 

“Well…I’m blissfully married now and I still make time for my dear, sweet if not annoying baby brother…So, who knows, maybe your own bestie will remember you still exist in the upcoming months. Also, do take comfort in the fact that John _needs_ you. He feels alive each time you take him with you on those silly little cases of yours. You are his own little battlefield…No, Sherlock, trust me; I know exactly what I’m talking about! You both hate being bored. It’s just you both deal with boredom in different ways…So, do take comfort in the fact that if John does set your friendship off to the side it won’t be forever…because you are his best friend and his drug…Now, do go away, for you have things that must be done…For you are best man! Lucky you! You becoming best man, _twice,_ before the year has ended...Hmm? Well…I plan to snog my wife some more…Yes…Sherlock…we are on are way just not right at this moment! Yes, we are still in our hotel room…Sherlock, do rest ashore that we will both be present at the wedding! Stop worrying!...Really, that side is already starting to get full…Well, of course it is! John’s family and so called friends are many! However, Molly and I plan to sit on the bride’s side for I know there won’t be a lot of people on that side…Though we have been arguing a bit, for she would like to set up close whereas I would prefer the back. Right…Bye. Don’t call again.”

 

With that Mycroft canceled the call even though she could still hear Sherlock yelling at his brother.

 

And what was this about arguing over where they were going to sit…Oh…right…Mycroft just played his baby brother. Molly had a feeling that now Mycroft and her were now going to be sitting in the front row on the bride’s side. Sherlock would make sure of it, just so she’d win the imaginary argument and his older brother would lose…Aww that was kinda sweet, really…

 

“So, my dear, was that _nice_ enough for you?” Mycroft asked.

 

Molly sighed wondering why she even attempted to correct his horrid manners when it came to his brother. Mycroft was probably one of the countless reasons that Sherlock’s own manners were so questionable! Finally she shrugged, “You tried so that is all that matters.”

 

Her phone went off and she quickly looked around for it before Mycroft found her phone for her, to simply hand it to her.

 

It was a text from Sherlock telling her that **‘If convenient, you both should be at the church NOW. Even if it is inconvenient, come anyway!’**

 

Molly quickly showed her husband the text…

 

He sighed before muttering, “Seriously, my brother is the biggest twat!”

 

“Hmm, I guess we should go and be off then, so he’s happy.”

 

“Or…We could annoy him greatly by making out and showing up within two minutes before the wedding starts!” Mycroft told her with a delightful boyish twinkle in his eyes, “He’ll know _exactly_ why we were nearly late…”

 

Molly couldn’t help but laugh, “Oh, Mycroft, you are a wicked, wicked man!”

 

“I know! And luckily for me…You still love me anyway.” Mycroft breathed before moving in close once more and claiming her lips with his own…

 

And so, much to Sherlock’s great despair and aggravation they both, for a time, purposely ignored their phones…

 

~*~End of Part 1~*~

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I forgot to say in the first chapter that I don’t own Sherlock…And I don’t you know, I really don’t.
> 
> I wish to thank everyone who hit the kudos button, you are all lovely...
> 
> Now, we don’t see what happens at John and Mary’s wedding or reception in this story. I would think what happened in the original episode stayed the same except ‘Meat Dagger’ was never there or said what he had said…However Sherlock would have asked Mycroft perhaps what he had thought of the man who had gotten stabbed at first mistakenly believed in the shower…I feel Mycroft would have stated that he had stopped listening to Sherlock right after he had said the word, ‘Telegrams’…Then Molly would have hit his arm and lovingly hissed at him and which he would have encouraged Sherlock with the decoration of ‘best speech ever, brother mine…Keep talking, just hurry it along for Molly’s having a baby tonight!’ Giving Sherlock and Mycroft one fantastic excuse to leave the reception early…(that would also keep our hero from looking so lonely at the end of the episode.) Now, I tried writing the part but…my heart wasn’t in it, sorry but here is the next part…
> 
> Now it’s after the party and on with the story…

~*~Life in an Idiot’s Fishbowl~*~

~*~PART 2~*~

_‘You are funny, Masser Holmes, ain’t you?’_

_‘It won’t be funny for you, Steve, if I get after you. I gave you fair warning this morning.’_

-The Three Gables by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

“She looks funny. Are you certain her head is supposed to be shaped like this? Also, why hasn’t Maggie opened her eyes to have a look around? Is my niece defective?” Sherlock asked, his voice was slightly brimming with concern.

He was leaning down to study his newborn niece.

“Her head is fine, Sherlock. I’m sure your head was like this when you were born, that’s if your mother didn’t have a C-section.” Molly informed Sherlock softly, eyes full of great warmth and affection as she watched her husband carefully hold their tiny daughter.

“My little lady is quite smart, Sherlock.” Mycroft added voice also soft as he looked down in complete wonder upon his little princess. “It’s bright in this room and this is a whole new world to her…Let her enjoy it the way she wants to.”

Mycroft didn’t notice or care as his brother rolled his eyes. There was a long moment of silence before Sherlock said, “I believe, Mycroft, that it’s now my turn to hold her.”

Mycroft looked at him in complete surprise before he began calmly, “Oh, do you now, brother mine? Tell me, do you happen to know where those hands of yours have been? Hmm, do you?”

“Yes!” Sherlock snapped. “I know exactly where they have been all my life actually! However, they have mostly longed to be around your neck! Otherwise, they are clean…”

Mycroft gave him a look that said quite plainly that he highly doubted that. As he gently rocked his little girl, she made a little, soft noise that melted Molly’s heart…and perhaps her husband’s as well. Mycroft quickly looked back down at his daughter.

“When we came to the hospital after having left that silly reception early…I know full well that you went to the loo to _potty_!” Mycroft slowly accused his brother as if he had caught him doing something horribly vile.

It seemed as if Mycroft held his daughter a bit more tightly as he lifted his chin as if fully expecting Sherlock to deny such a horrid allegation.

Mycroft’s brother narrowed his sharp eyes upon his older and so called smarter brother.

“I washed my hands, Mycroft… _with_ _soap_.” Sherlock said this quite proudly as if that was a major accomplishment in his life.

Molly found herself staring at the great detective which he seemed to notice…

“I _always_ wash my hands with soap, especially after I use the loo, no matter what!” Sherlock quickly added, actually making it sound as if that was a huge accomplishment for the whole sex of his species, even more impressive than walking upright…

Though Molly personally thought that if Sherlock had stated that afterwards he even placed the toilet seat down…well… ** _that_** really would have meant something! However those amazing words were never once uttered.

Molly sighed, perhaps she was simply much too hopeful that there was indeed a man out there in the world that actually did that!

And she would have thought that the world’s only consulting legendary detective just might be man enough for the job…But perhaps he wasn’t…She wasn’t going to ask…Nope…She knew her husband didn’t no matter how much she muttered at him! Maybe Molly should put her hopes upon Matt Smith one of her favorite fantasies…For surly he was man enough for such an action! Though to be honest she was starting to give up on that Mycroft would ever put the seat back down, yet to be honest, she still plans to nag him about it constantly…

Anyway, while Molly was having these thoughts, Mycroft studied his brother quite doubtfully as if he could clearly see the germs all over him.

“Now, may I please hold my niece?” Sherlock asked calmly, holding out his hands.

Mycroft now seemed to study Sherlock’s hands. “I’m still not all that certain I like where those hands have been.”

Sherlock made an odd growl kind of noise that stated quite clearly his annoyance before looking at his sister-in-law for some much needed help. For he felt his brother was simply being a damn prick!

“Molly, do tell your husband to stop being so…so bloody mean! Go on; order him to let me hold your daughter, for you know damn well that I’m not going to harm her in any way even if you didn’t see fit to name her after me! For it was the fact that I was away for two years that got you two together in the first place!”

Well…There was more to it than that. Mostly it was Mycroft deciding to experiment with friendship and her…Also, there may have been some colored condoms involved later…Okay; Sherlock did have much to do with some of it, unintentionally, of course…

Molly sighed tiredly wondering if Mummy Holmes ever wanted to box her dear, sweet, lovely boy’s ears…

“Oh, Sherlock do be patient with your brother. He’s a brand new daddy and he has picked this moment to have a major freak out.” Molly told him, understanding her husband quite well.

Mycroft slowly lifted his warm eyes from his daughter’s face to say firmly, “I’m not freaking out.”

His voice had been deceptively calm, yet the over protective way that he held their little Maggie spoke volumes.

Molly gifted him a loving smile. “It’s okay, really, it is. It’s quite nice and a little funny to see my favorite control freak…freaking out…I must tell you, Sherlock that even in the delivery room he was such a sensitive soul. There he was holding my hand and coldly giving threats and orders to everyone around as if they weren’t doing a proper job.”

 “I don’t feel they were doing a proper job! Also there weren’t any threats, simply promises! Honestly, if I had known that we were going to be surrounded by morons, I would have chosen my own moron of a doctor and had a medical staff of my own choice flown in…If you will recall I had plans for a wing of our estate to be turned into a mini hospital wing for this advent…”

“In which I told you to stop being stupid.” Molly retorted. “I like my own doctor just fine and I know a lot of the medical staff here personally…I felt they did a fine job and that is all that really matters…And more importantly, look healthy baby girl…Our own little Maggie Katarina Marie Holmes…”

“True, we now have a beloved little treasure, no doubt but my love, how the hell do you know they did a blasted ‘fine job’  or not? You were busy at the time attempting to break my hand all the while moaning and screaming…And declaring to a whole room of people that if I ever took a needle to some condoms ever again you were going to punch me hard in the groin! More than once…”

Molly gave Mycroft a long look before stating calmly, “True, yet the strong point I was making is that now you have a beautiful _healthy_ daughter and a tired yet incredibly happy wife. At this moment, all looks pretty dandy in your world and to keep it that way, listen carefully…Stop complaining about the doctors and medical staff and hand over our little girl to your brother.”

“B-but…Molly what if he hasn’t washed his hands properly? Did he even sing the alphabet song in his head as he washed his hands? Which I must remind you is the approved time allotted for such an activity.” Mycroft asked holding his little princess close.

“ **FINE!** ” Sherlock growled before searching his pockets while he stated almost angrily. “I have a small bottle of hand sanitizer somewhere in my…AH! Here we go!”

He opened the small white cap and poured a good amount into his hands before placing the bottle back into his pocket…To then briskly rub his hands together. Mycroft watched his brother like a hawk, as if watching soon-to-be prey.

“That was pretty quick.” Mycroft told him almost accusingly. “Are you quite certain that you didn’t miss a spot? Also, let me see the best-by-date upon that bottle.”

Sherlock gave him a truly nasty look, his fingers even twitched as if they were yearning to place themselves savagely around his brother’s neck.

“Mycroft Holmes! You bloody share this new lovely experience with Sherlock by letting him hold Maggie, **_now_**!” Molly demanded.

“I _am_ sharing the bloody experience with him; he’s in the blasted room with us! I simply don’t see why it’s _his_ turn to hold _my_ little girl!” Mycroft said in a sulky fashion.

“Just like you are a new father, he’s a new uncle. Now hand Maggie over to your brother!” Molly demanded once more. Something in her voice warned her husband that she wouldn’t repeat herself again and things would not go well for him…

Mycroft sighed heavily as Sherlock smirked. He quickly moved towards his younger brother and oh so carefully placed Sherlock’s lovely niece into his arms. Sherlock’s smirk changed suddenly into a small, gentle smile as he looked down at his tiny niece.

“Well, hello, there…I’m your uncle.” Maggie’s uncle greeted her softly as he finally held her in his strong arms.

“Don’t you dare drop her!” Mycroft warned quickly…one would almost say in a panic but everyone knew that the British government _never_ panics…Yet, all that Molly knew was that for such a normally apathetic man, today he seemed quite anxious and very non-apathetic...Becoming a daddy changes things, one supposed, even a stoic, highly logical, supposed foolishly by others who were not his wife an emotionless man…

“I’m not going to drop her, Mycroft.” Sherlock promised, his voice still tenderly soft…sweet and gentle…quite kind in fact…A side of Sherlock, he never revealed much unless he was attempting to manipulate…This moment, however, was real. The criminal world wouldn’t recognize such gentleness or kindness from the great Sherlock Holmes. Nor would anyone outside of Sherlock’s circle of those he just might never admit aloud that he had a great fondness for…

“You moved your hand!” Mycroft suddenly sharply accused. Making Maggie make a noise of displeasure that seemed to fill Molly’s hubby with more panic…It also seemed to Molly that her hubby had somehow recently developed an issue about hands…Especially those of his brother’s…

“Oh, do calm yourself, Mycroft!” Sherlock ordered him sharply, not once looking away from his beautiful niece. “Seriously, save your major freak out for when our little Maggie here is a teenager!”

Molly bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing as Mycroft’s eyes widened slightly. Molly reached over and took her soothing palm’s hand and squeezed it lovingly.

“Don’t worry about it, love, really if you think about it we all were teenagers once…” Molly informed him gently.

If she hadn’t known better she would have sworn she had heard a soft, weak whimper. This time Sherlock looked up from the intense study of her little girl’s tiny fingernails to say pointedly, “And look how we all survived.”

“If I remember correctly, _you_ became a hellish mess.” Mycroft snapped at his brother with a hard cruel coldness. Molly had no doubt that his sudden coldness was simply because he was trying desperately to distance himself from the horrible memories of the past…The serious heartache of witnessing his dear baby brother actually thinking he needed some damn needle…

“You know damn well, blood, that my mind rebels at stagnation! Give me the most interesting problems…Give me something that will actually work my brain! I honestly didn’t understand that as a teenager. I simply had to learn, Mycroft, it was indeed a hard lesson but I learned…We are so very different and yet in so many ways we are the same. That alone is the most abstruse cryptogram, yes?” Sherlock asked as if knowing or not knowing the answer really didn’t matter all that much.

“You still haven’t learned enough!” Mycroft shot back. “Yes, you may always crave mental exultation, brother mine, but your drug habit will damage and destroy you!”

“ _Former_ drug habit, my dear brother.” Sherlock stated coldly, eyes like harden steel…

Mycroft tilted his head to question softly, the way his hand suddenly squeezed Molly’s as if something bothered him and only the hand still holding his was his lifeline…as he questioned softly, “But for how long will it remain _former_? Hmm? When will you decide to open that blasted door, once more? Will it be because of some foolish belief that you must stimulate your stupid brain!”

“For now, I’m quite happy to dispense with artificial stimulants.” Sherlock stated back just as softly.

“Mycroft…” Molly said her dear husband’s name softly, drawing his attention to her, before she continued, “I believe quite strongly that Sherlock is stronger than his former drug habit. I trust him to do what is right and he now has friends and a pick of high level cases that will keep him away from that ‘needle’ as you like to call it…Really, my love, why would he ever go back to tha--“

“Because he is the stupid one.” Mycroft cut in. “My dear, you lovingly and quite foolishly believe in my brother much more than I do…He could and would find some reason to go back to being some bloody druggie…”

 “I’m standing right here.” Sherlock reminded them, softly.

“You believe he’s stupid but he’s not.” Molly ignored her brother-in-law’s words as she continued to focus and speak to her husband.

Mycroft gave her a long look and something…a strong, intense emotion that only she witnessed entered his intelligent eyes for a brief moment.

“I fear greatly, my dear…” Mycroft began ever so softly, “That my brother will disappoint you greatly and shatter your kind loyal heart.”

Molly knew what else he was silently saying…Sherlock always knew how to shatter his own heart. Secretly, Mycroft was a fragile man, especially when it came to his brother or emotions that his logical mind had a hard time ignoring. His being fragile at times was an odd fact that only she seemed to know.

Molly had realized this fact years ago…Actually, the first and only time Mycroft broke into her flat for a little ‘talk’. Mostly the talk had been about how stupid she was and how his weathered eye could only go so far. They had even said words about Sherlock having friends…Molly may have shot back at some point that she knew how jealous he was of his brother…For he had loyalty of those around him for free whereas Mycroft…didn’t…Perhaps never would.

Well…Strangely enough they later became friends. Good friends, besties in fact…Mostly because Mycroft had attempted to order up her friendship like he was ordering from a menu…He a decided to try a little experiment…To if she was right about friendship and perhaps to secretly keep loneliness at bay while his only confidant, only true friend, Sherlock was away…

Seeing that they were _still_ friends and he had attempted to find a way to keep her permanently in his life…It looked as if she was right indeed about the whole friendship thing, and had proved him wrong. Yay, for her! Sad for that lovely box of colorful condoms that never stood a chance against a determined man with a needle…

“And I’m _still_ standing right here.” Sherlock stated, as Maggie began to fuss. “I plan to do my best not to miss place my beloved sister-in-law’s faith in me. You’re faith in me, Mycroft, I don’t give fu—“

He stopped suddenly, shooting a quick glance at Molly as she let go of Mycroft’s hand and narrowed her eyes on him. Sherlock cleared his throat before continuing, “I don’t give an _excrement_ about.”

With that said, he moved towards Molly still speaking this time looking back down at his niece. “Well, little Maggie Katrina Marie Holmes, welcome to the family. You and I are going to have some grand adventures…”

He gently and carefully placed Maggie into her Mother’s waiting arms but not before placing a tender, sweet kiss upon his niece’s tiny forehead. After that he quickly placed a chaste kiss upon Molly’s own forehead and gave her a small smile. “You did good. Now, I must be off. The criminal element never rests, you know? Nor should it, for that would be boring!”

Sherlock turned towards his brother. “Don’t get too excited, Mycroft, I’m **_not_** kissing your forehead!”

Mycroft gave him a long look before a slight smile edged his lips. “I should hope not.”

After Sherlock awkwardly patted his brother’s arm and then with a brief flutter of a couple of his fingers in what could have passed for a friendly wave ‘goodbye’ he was suddenly gone.

Mycroft sighed, looking down at his family…his treasured world.

“Do stop worrying.” Molly told him. “Sherlock no longer needs drugs…Really he doesn’t…He knows better than to fall back on them…”

Mycroft sat down in the chair by the hospital bed and he took back Molly’s hand with his own to give it a gentle squeeze.

“Of course, you are right, my dear…I fear I’m simply being silly…Old fears and all…”

Something told her that her husband just lied to her. He felt he wasn’t being silly at all, however, perhaps it was for the best not to say any more about it…

All Molly could do was prey her faith in Sherlock wasn’t misplaced and that she was indeed right…

Only time could tell, really…

So, with that Molly changed the conversation and Mycroft seemed to instantly understand and even be thankful about it.

Yet, something dark whispered in the corner of both their minds that ‘the time’ could be upon them sooner than either one of them would have liked.

~*~End of Part 2~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised ‘And So Beats A Gentle Heart’ soon and hopefully it will be. It’s just I had to rewrite the blasted part…So never fear, once I stop dicking around with it, I will share it with those of you that are waiting so patiently for it.
> 
> Thank you and have a lovely day…
> 
> Oh, and those that want more of this story fear not, more will happen…I’m excited about part 3 for it will get the plot moving…yay!
> 
> Many hugs!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my lovely readers, I have picked the name/character ‘Jim Browner’ from the original story ‘The Cardboard Box’ and did my own strange twist on things. He was married to a woman named Mary who had two sisters, Susan and Sarah…I have him married, in my story, to a Stephanie Cushing because well, the whole Mary issue, seeing we have John’s Mary… and I thought it would be easier to do my own weird thing. I simply get a kick out of putting whatever I can from the stories I love and am a bit obsessed about it all. Let’s be honest, Arthur Conan Doyle rocks.
> 
> Also, I have the man’s wife being dead for ten years because that is how long it was in the original stories for Sherlock Holmes to come back after his own fake death. So if Molly did indeed help this man’s wife fake her death please don’t try to do the math or anything…please simply enjoy (hopefully) my odd weirdness that I happen to enjoy twisting into my stories and that I love sharing with you…and luckily some of you don’t seem to mind that I do share with you.
> 
> Also, I hope none of you mind but I make a small mention of a cat named Poirot. Didn’t really need to, but I did it anyway…My lovely black and white tom cat (He was big, fluffy and had attitude) has been gone for a few years now and…well, it’s the anniversary of his passing and thought I’d place him for a moment in one of my stories...I loved him so much, still do really…Anyway, hope you don’t mind…
> 
> And now with much love here is more of…

~*~Life in an Idiot’s Fishbowl~*~

~*~PART 3~*~

_‘…I found myself in my old armchair in my own old room, and only wishing that I could have seen my old friend Watson in the other chair which he so often adorned._

-The Empty House by Arthur Conan Doyle

~*~SHERLOCK~*~

Sherlock Holmes sat in his favorite chair, fingers pressed together under his chin as he listened to an obvious stupid man who wanted to be his client…Luckily enough for him, he could pick and choose and this one…Well, he was about to be booted out the door and he didn’t even care if as the man made his way out that the door made a serious impression on his backside.

Jim Browner, a big, tall, and quite powerful looking clean shaven fellow…A man Sherlock had easily deducted enjoyed sailing and had even worked quite a bit on cruise ships…

Finally…If Sherlock actually believed in a higher being than himself he would have been thanking it…as the man _finally_ stopped his endless pointless chatter. Worse than some women he had interviewed for some of his cases.

Sherlock took a deep breath and slowly moved his hands from under his chin before snarling his voice was a sharp, cruel whip of contempt, “Leave. **_Now_**.”

The large man before him blinked at him in complete surprised, as if he hadn’t expected that from the great, consulting detective or maybe it was the word, ‘now’ the total idiot didn’t understand.

“B-But, Mr. Holmes, what about my case?” The man before him asked, looking seriously confused. Looked as if he didn’t understand the meaning of ‘now’.

Sherlock was slightly confused himself, wondering why the man was still in his great presence. Didn’t he tell him to leave?

“Case? What bloody case do you speak of for as far as I can see there is **_no_** case, you delusional twat!?” Sherlock knew he sounded annoyed yet really didn’t care. Perhaps he was indeed annoyed. This moron had completely wasted his time…He could be playing his violin or setting his eyeballs aflame…

He flung himself out of his chair to place his hands behind his back. Perhaps so he wouldn’t hurt the man before him as he continued, “Mr. Browner, as I have stated, you are delusional and might I kindly add that you are also _stupid_. I would suggest you get on with your pathetic excuse of a life. Your wife clearly is dead…I would suggest that you start looking for a new one, maybe one with nice teeth and large shaped breasts.”

“Sir! There is no **_clearly_** about this, Mr. Holmes, **_my wife_** is still very much alive and I want you to find her, damn it!” Mr. Browner declared angrily, “As I told you before what my best friend said about you…That you are the only one who could ever find her. Other detectives have attempted to look for her and, of course because they aren’t you, they have failed. Everyone knows you are the best and I know you can find her if you would simply do that for me…I can pay you, Mr. Holmes…A lot of money hell perhaps more than what you are worth but I will pay it!”

“You attempt to flatter me and insult me all at once. I will have you know that _I am_ far more than you can ever afford even if you went to your ‘friend’ to borrow more money.” Sherlock stated arrogantly, knowing for certain that he spoke the truth.  “If your case had held **_any_** interest at all…I’d be willing to do it for free…Which sometimes I have done that for certain cases…however…I cann _ot_ bring someone back from the dead!”

“But she’s not—“

Sherlock cut off the man’s words with his own. “You reported that she died in a horrible crash, yes? The vehicle she had been in was aflame, yes? People mainly don’t walk away from that. The picture you showed me of the car afterwards…Wow, I hope she didn’t suffer much because I’m thinking if she had still been alive while trapped what a ghastly way to go…anyway, they matched the DNA, even while you kept questioning it, right?”

“That DNA was faked, the body was most likely a Jane Doe…I’m telling you _everything_ was faked about my wife’s death! All so she could leave me and _torture me_ …” Mr. Browner yelled before he whimpered the last bit. He took some deep breaths, clearly emotional, trying to calm himself before he finally stated. “S-She’s still alive. I know in my heart, in my soul…That she is still very much alive. For the past ten years, I’ve been waiting for her to come back home…I’ll forgive her for the conspiracy, this whole lie and…the pain I’ve gone through…She just needs to come home…or at least have her tell me… _why_ , she did this…Was it another man or did someone threaten her where she didn’t feel safe…I just…want to know _why_ …”

The big man seemed lost and heartbroken and to be honest Sherlock didn’t know what to do. He hated emotional crap…Also, something…He wasn’t sure what it was but he felt as if the man wanted to play him. Maybe Sherlock spent his whole life manipulating others he was always expecting others to turn around and manipulate him right back. He could be wrong…He did have a habit of missing something important…Damn it, all if only John were here!

Sherlock sighed, “I really can’t help you, Mr. Browner.”

“You mean you _won’t_!” The large dark haired man snapped, no longer looking heartbroken.

“You said that your wife could have been threatened or maybe another man…That there was a conspiracy with her death…Why do you think that? Better question… _Why **would** she fake her death?_ ” Sherlock found himself asking softly, thoughtfully…Walking away from the man towards his window…Yet, and still keeping a sharp eye on his stupid sadly delusional twat.

Mr. Browner looked at him with desperate eyes. “She worked as a secretary to my best friend. As I’ve stated he’s in a minor position in the government. Sometimes, not often, they would have to deal with sensitive material…Maybe…Someone tried to blackmail her and we all know it’s hard to blackmail someone who is dead…So she… I really don’t know.”

Mr. Browner swallowed hard, looking away before he replied, “And then there’s the other man. She had been acting strange some weeks before she faked her death and well…maybe the other man was part of blackmail…or not…but we had a huge fight, a really bad one that night she…It was a silly fight, I can see that now…back then…not so much…Horrible things were said…Nasty things and…I want to tell her how sorry I am and…and I didn’t mean to be such a prick.”

Sherlock looked away from him in disgust. He saw no evidence of blackmail…and conspiracies needed a lot of help…Most of the time government help and he doubted his brother cared about some common secretary who knew the great secret to how much wastepaper parliament used when in session.

This man simply wished his wife was alive. Not caring that he was being insensitive, Sherlock told him… “Its guilt, you know? You have wasted _ten_ bloody years on _guilt_. You should move on. Don’t waste _more_ years on _this_. To think you have also wasted money on so-called detectives who saw an easy pay day. Telling you how hard they looked when all they were doing was scratching themselves as they watched crap telly. Mr. Browner, your wife, _she’s gone_ …Go put some stupid flowers on her grave and then step away and live your life. Leave her in the cemetery where she belongs.”

“But she’s not in the cemetery, for she is alive!” Mr. Browner protested.

Sherlock turned his head back towards him, eyeing him expressionlessly. He ignored his protest to reply, “She’s really not. Now go away.”

“I…I have proof!” The large man declared, as he quickly searched his coat pockets.

“Really?” Sherlock asked doubtfully. “And you didn’t think to show me this before?”

Whatever the man was searching for he suddenly found…A folded up newspaper…After quickly unfolding it he shook it out before he held it up as if in complete victory…

“SEE!” Mr. Browner ordered with an odd light in his crazy, dark eyes.

Sherlock hoped that he didn’t look as completely flabbergasted as he felt for that second it took to register what exactly he was seeing…

“All I see is that you are quite clearly an idiot.” Sherlock stated truly unrepentant of this statement of fact as he jerked the rubbish tabloid from the man’s large hands to glare accusingly at the dark, huge headline that declared, **‘Great hat detective is secret daddy to sister-in-law’s baby!’**

There was even a colored picture of him and Molly, walking side by side; they both had one hand on Maggie’s baby carriage. They were laughing…Well, he was actually smiling and Molly looked as if she was laughing. In honesty they were good friends enjoying a moment as they walked in the park. They also looked like a happy family. Which they were by marriage but the picture could easily make simpletons wonder if there wasn’t something more there…For Sherlock Holmes wasn’t known for looking _that_ happy unless he thought a case to be much like Christmas…One without his family around to annoy him yet filled with endless corpses.

This non- existent case was _not_ going to give him a lovely Christmas.

Sherlock simply crushed the offending paper into a ball and tossed it over his shoulder as he ordered once more with even more fervor, “GET OUT!”

Sherlock quickly looked around the room, thinking that he might have to hurry the whole ‘get out’ thing along…He knew his riding crop should be around here somewhere…

“NO! You don’t understand!” Mr. Browner said desperately. He actually looked as if he just might be stupid enough to try to lay hands on Sherlock’s person and give him a violent shake. “Miss Molly Hooper helped fake everything! She has all the answers!”

Sherlock stopped looking for his riding crop for a second to regard Mr. Browner coldly and steadily.

“Her name is Doctor Molly **_Holmes_**.” Sherlock corrected and reminded him softly, really not liking this overgrown bore. Yet, he wondered why this man dared to speak of his pathologist and dear sister-in-law…Especially, the way he had said her name. As if he blamed her… _hated her_ …

No, Sherlock didn’t like this man at all. He was completely unworthy to have her name on his chipped ugly lips…

“ _Right_ … ** _Doctor Molly_** _**Holmes**_...” The way the man dared to say her name, with even more fury and hatred made Sherlock stiffen and his long fingers curl into fists. He was quite fond of his sister-in-law…And perhaps he had been fond of her before she had married his annoying fatty of a brother. There was a dark, cruel look in this mad man standing before him…One that made Sherlock feel an odd uncontrollable need to protect Molly, his dear friend and Mycroft’s beloved wife…

Sherlock would _never_ allow this man to ever be near her. Ever.

“She and my wife were best friends in uni.” Mr. Browner quickly explained, yet the way he clenched his jaw told Sherlock this man was close to losing control. Well, if he attempted any violent moves, Sherlock would be delighted to show off his own violent moves…

“That article I showed you…” He continued, “Clearly stated that…that bitch…That Molly Holmes helped **_you_** fake your death. So that’s all the proof I need, you see? She seems to have a talent for making people think… _believe_ quite strongly that someone is indeed dead. That woman is a bloody magician with a nasty bag of tricks. You know that more than anyone. In fact, your little stage play wasn’t the first she ever did and probably won’t be the last. Take a look at those reports about my wife’s death and tell me it doesn’t look like a bloody cover up! Especially, when you see who did her autopsy! It’s the same one who supposedly did yours!”

Ah! There it was! His favorite riding crop, his only one really but nonetheless it was his favorite.

Sherlock’s sharp eyes suddenly turned back to Mr. Browner before lying, “You really think my dear, sweet sister-in-law helped me fake my death? Those that believe that are simply stupid for really… why would I need the help of a woman? You should stop believing in silly rumors.”

“Oh, come now, don’t lie! That filthy whore did help you. She faked your death just as she faked my wife’s! Everyone knows what she did for you…Hell, while she was planning it; she was probably on her back with her legs spread…Bet she keeps it in the family, you and your brother…” He stated nastily.

The legendary detective had no idea that his extremely cold, normally guarded eyes now glinted with overwhelming menace. Giving him the look of a very nasty and quite dangerous man…Hell, perhaps he looked like more…A predator on the hunt and there was a foolish slow bunny in front of him…

“Don’t…” Sherlock ordered voice cold and oh, so deadly. “Ever, insult a member of my family in such a vulgar way. Especially one that I’m quite fond of…Tell me, are you going to say something equally offensive about my mummy…Please do, it’s been awhile since I’ve thrown someone out my window and onto my landlady’s bins.”

And, of course, it had been many years since that had happened but Sherlock was quite willing to experience déjà vu once more. Too, happy, in fact. To be honest, he was almost hopeful about doing that once more. It would be fun! For him anyway, not sadly for Mr. Browner. However, Mrs. Hudson would not be so happy about her bins.

Mr. Browner looked as if he just realized what he had been saying…and knew having the great Sherlock Holmes help him now would _never_ happen.

“N-No…I’m s-sorry Mr. Holmes, it’s just…I’m very upset and didn’t mean…” He tried desperately to fix the damage that had been done. Yet, both men knew it was much too late. “You see Stephanie and your sister-in-law were the best of mates…Best friends, they were, did everything together. Where one was the other would normally be…Best and dearest of friends…”

“No, they really weren’t.” Sherlock coldly declared, cutting off the man. He was done with him and wanted him gone. “My sister-in-law’s life is an open book. I know everything about her and her past. Her former or even old friends…I have heard about them…Seen countless boring pictures…I could probably tell you about her dead brother’s friends and I _never_ once met him. I do know that while she was going to uni her best friend was her cat named Poirot…I can tell you right now that she has never once mention your wife or even you…Probably because she secretly liked neither of you. Because I know her like a well-read book, I can honestly tell you that I doubt she ever considered this silly Stephanie bird her friend much less her _best_ friend.”

“As if you know anything about _best friends_.” The man finally snarled. Truly giving up on pleasantries or even niceties.

Sherlock couldn’t help but think of John.

“Oh, Mr. Browner, trust me, I know enough.” Sherlock declared. “I also know Molly Holmes would never want to spend a second in your worthless presence. I must say if she had ever known you through your wife, Molly did a good keeping you out of her life nor am I even certain that your wife knew her. You could easily be lying.”

“But that bitch did Stephanie’s autopsy! So I know damn well that everything was faked just as she faked yours! And…I’m not lying!”

As Mr. Browner was talking Sherlock whirled around and picked up his riding crop to wave it in a threatening manner…What made it even more threatening was Sherlock’s smile…

“I tell you that I’m not lying!” Mr. Browner repeated, taking several steps back and now looking quite pale. His eyes ridiculously wide. “Mrs. Holmes and my wife were indeed best friends! I-I have proof!”

“More silly, full of rubbish, tabloids?” Sherlock snarled the question at him.

Mr. Browner pulled out a small picture of two smiling women from his billfold and attempted to hand it to him. Sherlock grabbed it, glanced at it before looking at him with pure hatred. The picture did indeed have Stephanie Browner in it with what looked like Molly…It would look even more like her if the ugly scratches and eye removal hadn’t taken place. Still he could recognize his pathologist. So with a growl he smacked the man hard with his riding crop. Normally, he simply hit corpses with it but he saw nothing wrong with hitting the living…Especially this man!

Mr. Browner gave a startled cry of pain before he turned and ran out of the room as if there were demons chasing him.

“ _AND DON’T YOU DARE COME BACK!”_ Sherlock shouted loudly as he listened to the sound of pounding feet as the horrid man fled.

When 221B’s door slammed shut, it was only then that he tossed down his riding crop. Taking a few deep breathes he looked down at the picture…Seriously, there was something so very **_wrong_** about Jim Browner…Sherlock wasn’t sure what exactly was wrong with him but it was there and it left a bad taste in the detective’s mouth.

Sherlock walked over to his desk and placed the picture over to see the dull white side to set it on top of some random papers he had resting there. Sherlock then picked up his phone to ring his brother. Something he normally didn’t do willingly. He liked Mycroft to make the first move, and the second…

Instantly, he heard his brother saying, “What do you want, brother mine?”

Sherlock went right to the point. “Has Molly ever mentioned anything about a Stephanie Cushing Browner or even a Jim Browner to you?”

There was a long silence.

Until finally, “No, should she have?” He asked this softly…So very carefully…A shark that scented blood in its territory.

Sherlock flipped the picture over onto its back with great disgust before answering, “I really don’t know, Mycroft, but that bastard Jim Browner was just here wanting me to take some silly foolish case. He also called our Molly a whore and a bitch. He believes very strongly that I wasn’t the only death she ever helped fake before. I really don’t like the man…There is something about him that I don’t like…Hell, I didn’t like him before he called my lovely sister-in-lay a filthy whore and defaced a picture of her…Now that I think of it, he kind of reminds me of that man who cut off his wife’s and her lover’s ears after he beat them to death with a well sized heavy oak stick…That was an interesting case, he sent the ears through the mail and they were delivered to his sister-in-law .”

Another absence of sound as Mycroft thought on Sherlock’s words. Sherlock seriously doubted he was interested in the ear case that he had just spoken of.  He knew there was a completely different reason behind the utterly cold stillness. No one called Mycroft’s love of his life, his world…a whore, a bitch, or did anything that would be deemed threatening in any way towards her and the defacing of her picture bothered both men.

“Do you think it’s worth my time to make an appointment to see this… _man_?”

The way Mycroft said the word _man_ made one understand that there had been other words much better suited for example, ‘rubbish’, ‘a complete waste of space’ or even Sherlock’s long time favorite, ‘a piece of excrement that should have been flushed a long time ago.’

Sherlock gave a small smile, knowing that when Mycroft made _appointments_ , that pretty much meant that he’d have that person picked up off the streets after showing off how powerful and scary he could be, before taking them to some nice darken abandoned factory somewhere…And if he was feeling kind there might even be a chair so his _invited_ guest could sit down.

“No, Mycroft, I’m certain he’s not worth your time or even mine. He’s a spineless stupid coward.”

“Are you sure? For even spineless stupid cowards could be dangerous…” Mycroft asked as if he needed to know, as if it really was a matter of life or death. For he was a man who would become more than dangerous if someone was foolish enough to threaten his family and his beloved Molly.

Now Sherlock was silent. Trying to organize a thousand thoughts flying all at once inside his head before responding, “Molly would surly tell us if some creep was…making her uncomfortable or attempting to talk or threaten her in any way… _right_?”

“Molly, though a delicate flower, is an independent soul that sometimes thinks she had handle all kinds of things on her own…however, since we have gotten married, she has reminded me constantly that we are now in a partnership…so…I’m quite certain she would inform me of any…unpleasantness that might occur.”

“Plus she knows you are a possessive control freak.” Sherlock cut in, knowing Molly called Mycroft a control freak all the time not with bitterness or annoyance but with strong love and acceptance in her tone. That kind of love and acceptance his brother had in Molly almost made him wish…No, Sherlock Holmes was a cold logical man that thought with his head, he refused to be lead by some foolish emotions…So very foolish indeed.

He looked over to John’s chair almost expecting his best friend to be sitting there. For a moment Sherlock had thought to read John’s expression and to deduce what he was thinking….Except there was no John…Hell, there was no chair. An overwhelming sadness hit him and perhaps…just perhaps…loneliness hit him as well.

“Yes, that is true.” Mycroft easily confirmed. “She knows I would worry and would easily take care of anything that bothers her…especially any rubbish.”

“Well, before you go crazy…perhaps you should ask her about Jim Browner just to…make certain he hasn’t been a great annoyance as of late…or even a small one.” Sherlock suggested slowly as he went over to pick up the crumbled idiotic tabloid that had been resting upon his floor. He took it to his desk and began to un-crumble the ball and smooth it out.   

“Hmm, yes, perhaps I should ask _and_ then let this Mr. Browner know that my wife is under my protection and one shouldn’t dare annoy **_me_**.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Trust me; he’s a spineless coward and a delusional idiot. I’m quite certain…” he paused for a moment as he attempted to hold his phone with his chin and shoulder, so he could carefully tear out the picture of Molly and him before he continued, “That he is harmless but please blood, do as you must to rest peacefully in your loving wife’s arms. Do take note that he has probably indeed heard about you for his best mate has a minor position in the government…”

“Oh, really? Is it my kind of _minor_ position?”

Sherlock snorted. Once more he now held his phone normally in his hand. “No one has your position, Mycroft, as you well know, for you are the British government! No, Mr. Browner simply threw his friend’s name around earlier and something about how his friend met you once. Sounded as if you made quite the…impression. Tell me, have you been out and about making **_friends_**?”

Mycroft gave a heavy sigh, “I have told you countless times before that I have no use for goldfishes and to be completely honest my dear wife is the only confidant I need…and the rare times perhaps you. However, my dear, sweet beloved has been forcing me as of late to have…something ghastly called _Couple’s Night_ …Where we get together with other couple’s and have dinner and play board games or other such foolishness.”

“Sounds like complete hell.” Sherlock stated dryly, with no sympathy whatsoever.

“It’s pure torment, brother mine, especially when I find moments where I’m actually enjoying myself. It’s only then that I wish I could stab myself with a rusty fork.”

Sherlock barked out a laugh.

“It’s _not_ funny!” Mycroft declared.

“No.” The consulting detective easily lied. “You enjoying couple’s night isn’t funny whatsoever! Not funny at all. So…” Sherlock decided to change the subject. “Are you and Molly still going to that major party slash ball that will have royalty and other supposedly important people…people I don’t at all care about…and surprisingly neither does Molly who actually said that it would be incredibly boring with so many snobs in the same room that she wished that Matt Smith would show up and actually kidnap her?”  


“Yes, we are still going and I know what Molly has said about it, but it will be nice to go out and there is going to be a very important meeting taking place and I simply must be there. Sadly, this party is suppose to help hide in plain sight as it were…and it would seem out of place to go to a grand party and not take the only woman I’m willing to dance with there.” Sherlock’s brother mused before asking hopefully, “Are you asking because you can no longer babysit little Maggie? Perhaps you have an important case…”

“I always have cases but I’m still taking care of Maggie…As I told Molly, Fridays are a lovely time to make a play date with my favorite niece. Even if it’s only for an hour or two…I really don’t even mind if it’s longer.” Sherlock informed him honesty.

“You are not planning to take her on a case with you, are you? I will not stand for such non-sense.”

“Oh, come now, it would be delightful if I did! I could easily get information out of certain ladies if necessary…All because I’m holding a cute baby in my arms and according to some tabloids I’ve seen as of late…I just so happen to be her father.”

Mycroft snorted at his brother’s words. “Right, obviously these tabloids have morons writing them.”

“To be honest,” Sherlock continued as he pretended to ignore him. “I’m not sure I would take Maggie along with me on cases. She’s cute and could be useful at times, yes…however…She’s really not all that useful as a companion or even an assistant. She’s not at all self-sufficient, yet! I fear Maggie would expect me to change her nappy right there at the crime scene!”

“When and if you babysit my daughter for a few hours or even one hour you are expected to change her nappy, Sherlock.”

“I know that, I meant I couldn’t change it at the _crime scene._ Plus, Mrs. Hudson will be around tonight.” Sherlock decided to inform Mycroft calmly. Taking a good look at the picture he had so carefully ripped out of the paper before he crumbled the rest of the tabloid, leaving the picture flat. He threw the rest of the rubbish into his fireplace.

“Sherlock!” For some reason Mycroft growled this sharply into his ear.

He rolled his eyes. “Stop worrying. Maggie is in safe hands. I’ll change her nappy when needed. Feed her and burp her…perhaps even play my violin when the need calls for it.”

“And you weren’t playing with me; Mrs. Hudson will indeed be around?” Mycroft asked almost worriedly as if leaving his little princess alone with his eccentric brother might not be the right or even the best thing for a new father to do. 

“Yes, she will be around, however I’m quite certain she doesn’t need to babysit _me_ while I babysit Maggie.” Sherlock attempted to say calmly and as reasonably as possible.

He might, Sherlock thought secretly, make this a…date with a certain lady…If he said he needed help or advice…Perhaps…just perhaps…he could use this opportunity.

“We have a nanny that takes care of my little one at certain times of the day…Should I ask her to go over to Baker Street to help you out? She never seems to mind doing a little extra now and again.”

“Are you speaking of that former CIA agent who looks like she will kill anyone who dares to come too close to your daughter?” Sherlock asked, already knowing the answer before quickly responding, “No, Mycroft, I don’t want or need _her_ help…Plus, is it wise to have a woman who once was captured and tortured by terrorists watching my niece?”

“Come now, she’s a lovely, nice woman…Who has retired happily from the CIA and wanted a new and different life…She also killed those terrorists that you speak of _and_ she brought home two grateful MI6 agents. I also know that if she could handle terrorists, she can damn well handle you. I’ll even pay her extra hazard pay.” Mycroft told him in a light hearted manner, almost happily. Marriage really did change a man.

“I don’t need to be _handled_ by my niece’s nanny slash killer bodyguard, Mycroft.” Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes. He always seemed to do that a lot when dealing with his older and boring brother. He moved towards a bookcase of his and pulled out a small blue book with beautiful familiar faded golden letters.

Mycroft sighed. “Oh, you are perhaps correct. If the both of you were left in a room together for long, I’d simply hate to think of what might happen to the furniture…Plus, Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t like blood stains in her carpet.  I’ve heard that it’s so very hard to get blood completely out of carpet…”

“Like you have ever tried to get blood stains out of the carpet.” Sherlock replied sadly as if his brother led a miserable life. To actually think he didn’t know how to remove blood stains or even care about all the different types of ash…

“I personally don’t care about your bloody carpet, Sherlock! I was thinking of your poor, dear Mrs. Hudson.”

Sherlock hummed as he set the book down on his desk. “You are right; she wouldn’t like having blood on the carpet all that much. She really is a very sensitive woman. You should have witnessed her reaction the time I destroyed her bins.”

Mycroft made a noise that could have been easily mistaken for a chuckle…

“So…” Sherlock continued, “I will have Maggie tonight? See you over here at seven?”

A long silence before Mycroft asked with deadly calmness. “Do you have the number for the poison control hotline?”

“I’m not going to poison my niece!” Sherlock suddenly yelled, seriously annoyed with his brother.

“You know what number to dial in case of emergency, yes?” Mycroft asked, still quite calm.

“999.” Sherlock growled. “And it takes them eight minutes to get here, and I will make certain that nothing will happen to _my_ niece!”

“I know you don’t _want_ anything to happen to my daughter…It’s…Well…I’m simply not sure it’s wise. She’s completely helpless right now and if you get a sudden important case I don’t want you to dash out leaving her there in your flat all alone.” Mycroft commented all this in an odd completely docile manner. Not at all like the brother Sherlock knew and was deeply annoyed by. Seriously, his brother would have to learn that it was okay to leave his daughter in the care of others, especially that of his own brother. Sherlock knew damn well that Mycroft had cameras and certain other people watching the nanny slash bodyguard taking care of Maggie…His older brother really needed to learn to trust, damn it!

“Mycroft…do stop fretting…I promise to treat her better than even my…” Sherlock paused before he said the one word that still to this day seemed to break his heart. “Redbeard.”

Redbeard. His dear beloved childhood friend. Really, the only friend he had as a child. There were times…And he refused to admit it out loud but he still missed his Redbeard.

“We will be there at seven to leave Maggie with you and should be back to pick her up between eleven and eleven-thirty. However, it could possibly be later if Molly is enjoying herself so do be prepared for that.” Mycroft quickly confirmed as if he never once had any doubts. “Do, please make sure Mrs. Hudson is around for some of it…At least, tell her to wait awhile before taking her nightly dose of herbal soothers.”

Then without even a ‘goodbye’, ‘laters’, or even a ‘do me a favor and take a jump into the Thames!’ the line went dead and his brother was no longer there and it didn’t take long for Sherlock to hang up as well.

He looked down at his phone and wondered if he should try to call John. His best friend and his only blogger had ordered him not to call him during his and Mary’s honeymoon…or sex holiday as Sherlock preferred to call it.

John’s voice was suddenly there…What he had said that day…

_“Don’t you dare call me on my honeymoon, Sherlock, I know you and you will be tempted…But don’t you dare…In fact, you wait for me to call you. Okay? I will call you when I get back…”_

John’s voice echoed in his head and Sherlock knew that he and Mary were back home. They had to be and yet Sherlock still waited for his phone to ring. He hated that…the waiting…maybe…His best friend _wasn’t_ going to call.

Why would a married man want to hang out and have fun with a single man?

_Things **do** change…_

But…They were friends, so why wouldn’t John call? Shouldn’t he be the one to call since he had said he would?

So…Sherlock waited…and waited…

Time had passed and still he waited. While he bloody waited Sherlock had moved John’s chair…Mostly because it had began to _hurt_ whenever he looked at the blasted thing!

Then he waited for the phone to ring or for the sound of familiar footsteps upon the stairs…This time without John’s chair seeming to mock him. Yet, even when Sherlock removed that chair it remained like a haunted memory. A ghost that never fully went away. He hated the fact that it no longer blocked his view to the kitchen. Sherlock wanted to hate his friend for the ache of loneliness that seemed to annoy him most days…He couldn’t hate John, however…for wanting a life outside of him…He couldn’t hate John for being selfish…Sherlock didn’t understand why John would want a life outside of him…or even why John would want a wife but Sherlock couldn’t hate him for it. Or even blame the loneliness he was experiencing completely on his best friend.

So, what if John had forgotten him? So, what if Sherlock was alone? He had been alone before, there really was nothing new under the sun.

John _had_ said he would call and Sherlock never once had doubted his best friend’s word. Never once and damn it all…He wasn’t going to start doubting his word now! No matter how many days slipped by without a word from him. Not even a note dropped in his e-mail…And Sherlock checked daily…Not even a note saying they had made it back from their little sex holiday..

He knew exactly when John and Mary had returned to London. Molly and Mycroft had informed him of that fact…

And here he was… _waiting_ …and never once a call, a text or an e-mail...Even John’s blog that Sherlock stalked regularly was eerily silent.

Sherlock forced a heavy sigh and tossed down the phone. He refused to look at the phone anymore! As if it was the phone’s fault that John hadn’t called him…

Really, he wasn’t sure _why_ John not reaching out to him bothered him so…He wasn’t some sentimental fool! Really he wasn’t…

The picture of Molly and him caught his attention and he carefully picked it up with a slight smile that edged his lips. He opened the book and slid the paper clipping in and closed the book once more. Since he was a lone he allowed himself a tender moment to caress the small blue book. He wasn’t the type to keep a photo album…and any photos that weren’t on his laptop…were used as bookmarks…Only the ones deemed the most worthy of bookmarks were placed in _this_ book…

His lovely blue book with the faded golden letters that read ‘Practical Handbook of Bee Culture’. So  far his bookmarks in this book had a picture of himself as a young boy dressed like a pirate with his loyal sidekick at his side… Redbeard. Another of his parents and one with his grandparents. One of John and him…Even one of Mrs. Hudson…There was even a group shot of familiar looking people that surrounding him…It was a group shot of happy, cheerful people at Christmas…His…friends…There was even a picture of John and Mary at their wedding. Perhaps more than one photo…

His favorite was a lovely picture of Molly and Mycroft on their wedding day. Sherlock was even in the shot…He had been standing there tall and straight and Molly looked so beautiful and happy…Eyes where forever caught in the look of mischief and laughter…While both brothers looked…Well, horrified. Deeply horrified in fact…Sherlock later laughed about it for he had never seen his brother quite that horrified before.

They had been horrified because when the woman photographer who had been taking wedding pictures ordered a picture of just the bride and groom…Molly answered a quick, ‘no’ and grabbed Sherlock’s arm as if he had planned to run away, all while Mycroft had an arm around her waist. Then she ordered once more to the photographer, “NO. First take a few pictures of all three of us together…then you can have pictures done of Mycroft and I…Though before that happens I also want a picture of these two men hugging!”

So, of course, both men had been horrified at the thought while Molly simply giggled at the thought. Sherlock refused to look at the so called ‘hugging’ picture. Sherlock and Mycroft had looked down right miserable but it had made Molly happy and the picture was now on her end table by their bed…and Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder if an ‘accident’ wouldn’t one day befall that picture…Though…

Molly may have threatened that she’d cry and be ‘heartbroken’ if anything did happen to it…So maybe nothing would happen to it and that silly photo that seemed to make her happy.

His thumb rubbed at the name upon the book and wondered what his grandfather, Patrick Sherlock Holmes would have thought of his grandson using photo’s as bookmarks in a book he had written. He had been so proud when he had finished it and had it published. His grandfather had written this book so many years ago, long before Sherlock had been born. The man had loved his bees and had kept them on a lovely farm out in the countryside.

_“I don’t understand many things, my dear boy…”_ His completely white haired grandfather had told him one spring day as he sat on his porch with his favorite long pipe, smoking happily. _“I don’t even really understand nature. Nor for the life of me do I really understand people…But bees…Sherlock, bees…I **can** and do understand that! I can keep them and understand them…even love them in my own way…Let me tell you a secret about bees, Sherlock, one I have never shared with anyone else…One is **never** , ever completely alone when they are surrounded by bees…They never lie nor will they betray you…If you keep them happy they will keep you happy…and it doesn’t take much to make bees happy…_”

Sherlock turned and put the book carefully back on the shelf. He really wasn’t a great man of sentiment but if there was ever a fire he was grabbing his Belstaff and his little blue book. Everything else, including ‘Billy’ his favorite skull upon his mantelpiece…Well…He’d wish it and everything else he owned the best of luck as he ran out the door.

Sherlock moved suddenly to pick up his violin and started to play a sweet little melody…One his grandfather had liked…When he had been a little boy he had thought his grandfather odd and quite weird especially with his intense love for bees. Yet, as Sherlock grew older he was starting to understand the man who had been gone for so many years a little better.

Appreciations of nature was _not_ in Sherlock’s own nature…But…Maybe…One day, he himself would become a man who keeps bees. When he was quite old, of course, and was a retired consulting detective…Who even retired might just be lucky enough to stumble upon a mutilated body while he had been out enjoying the countryside…

Perhaps…One never really knew one’s own future…

As he played the song his grandfather liked turned sad and mournful as he passed along where John’s chair had once been…

Maybe by the time Sherlock was an old man in retirement years, John would once more be in his life…Perhaps, John would visit him in the country while he kept bees…

Could happen, couldn’t it?

And as he played…With his eyes closed…Sherlock could swear he heard a familiar sound of a small bee flying past as if to say, ‘hello’…

~*~End of Part 3~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the description of the book, “Practical Handbook of Bee Culture’ is from the story ‘His Last Bow’.
> 
> I don’t believe the name of the author of the book was ever mentioned. But I always thought how cool it would have been if the book had been written by Sherlock Holmes or even a family member with the Holmes name. For when Sherlock, who is pretending to be an American Spy, hands that book over to the other spy and ‘tricks and gets him’…Oh, how I enjoyed that story, still love it in fact…
> 
> Also, thought I’d share…but I’ve read some interviews from our favorite BC and he has stated that when he is in the US he likes to ‘play’ with an American accent…When I read that I thought, damn I hope the creators of ‘Sherlock’ puts some of ‘His Last Bow’ in so we have Sherlock pretending to be American and perhaps later annoys John with it…maybe even calling him, ‘Dude’.
> 
> Well…it could happen…maybe.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you have a lovely day.


End file.
